


Why Don't You Do Right?

by flashindie



Series: I Got It Bad (and that ain't good) [2]
Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gunshot Wounds, Hurt/Comfort, Woman on Top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2020-01-23 00:37:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18538726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flashindie/pseuds/flashindie
Summary: “Oh, it’s normal, sweetheart,” he says, practically glowing from his pedestal. “You know, you do a job so long, you make some bad habits, you forget the rules. It’s okay. I figure we use tonight as an opportunity to go back over the company manual, get you ladies refamiliarized with the Code of Conduct, management expectations and what not.”And it takes Beth a moment to find her words, to temper all the ways she’s suddenly running red hot, her body tall and rigid andfurious, because no, that’s not what that is, he doesn’t get to - - she blinks, hard, exhaling.“We don’t need to be supervised,” she says, and Rio raises both eyebrows at her, pushing himself, just slightly, off the car.-Set after 2.07. A drop goes wrong, Beth gets hurt, and Rio is Rio.Featuring! A lot of yelling! Snark! Angst! Annie trying to figure out what Rio and Beth are! Canon-typical terrible communication! Sex instead of communication! And lowkey, highkey feelings.





	Why Don't You Do Right?

**Author's Note:**

> Soooo, I guess this is a series now? Follow-up/companion piece to Be It Fahrenheit or Centrigrade, but you don't really need to read that one to read this.

“Well, is she talking to Gregg?” Ruby asks, and Annie just sighs from the backseat. 

“No. She won’t even stay with him on his days, she just goes to Nancy’s. Gregg thinks I don’t know, but I’m not stupid, you know? I’m seriously like,” she flails her hands around for a minute before stopping enough to gesture her thumb and finger maybe a centimetre apart. “This close to stealing her phone and installing one of those creepy stalker apps on it just so I can know where she is.” 

She folds her arms over her chest, flopping back against the backseat of Beth’s minivan, frowning deeply.

“It’s not the worst idea,” Beth says, indicating to turn the car off the highway. “If I had had one of those on the iPad, the other night would’ve been a lot less embarrassing.” 

A lot less traumatic too, but she feels that goes unsaid. It’s only been a few days since Jane had vanished and been found again, curled up with her toys and Ruby in Beth’s closet, and Beth still feels jittery with energy, the constant pull on her nerves that the last year has brought finally causing some of them to fray. She’d called in sick to work the next day, despite having a meeting booked with Rio, because she hadn’t been able to stomach the thought of letting any of her children out of her sight, nor endure the groundswell of emotions she couldn’t name at the prospect of seeing him so soon after he’d called her a - - after he got her back Jane’s - - 

She shakes her head, feels Ruby’s gaze on her. They both know. Beth hadn’t exactly planned on telling them, but they’d been over the next morning with coffee and breakfast and seen it, and Annie had joked that they should search the web for a Knit-Off reality show (surely Bravo makes one) given Beth’s apparent speed at crafting, and it had just…Come out. All of it.

(“Well, that was…. nice of him,” Ruby had said, unblinking, her eyes wide, and Annie had actually been rendered speechless for a moment before whispering something about Rio and a vagina fog which Beth really didn’t want to know any more about.) 

“I just want her to stop punishing me. I feel bad enough as it is,” Annie says now with a sigh, and Ruby leans over the back of the passenger seat to grab Annie’s knee. 

“We know, babe. You’ve just got to be patient. She’ll come around.” 

And Beth meets Annie’s gaze briefly in the rear-view mirror, just enough to hold her, to let her know she’s seconding Ruby’s words, seconding her touch, and Annie flashes her a tired, sad smile in reply.

The drive down to Boland Motors always feels eerie this time of night, no matter what they’re doing, but the air feels thick with the promise of rain tonight, clouds hanging low enough she wonders if it’ll be more than just that. If it’ll hail, or storm, or what. Beth bites the inside of her cheek. Emma’s terrified of storms, and Danny really isn’t much better, no matter how much he tries to hide it, and she’s not sure Dean will remember to keep Buddy in so he doesn’t spend the evening barking at every clap of thunder or spark of lightning. Still, it couldn’t be helped. Rio’s text had been insistent on this drop happening tonight, and she was reluctant to give him a reason to come and find her. 

“How many cars are we supposed to be doing tonight anyway?” Annie asks, as if she read Beth’s mind. Beth pulls into the driveway at Boland Motors, stopping long enough to grab her purse off of Ruby’s lap and rifle around in it for her key card for the gate. 

“Just the one,” she says. “We’re dropping it somewhere downtown. I think I’m going to need you to search for it in Google Maps, I didn’t have time today to look it up.” 

“Easy peasy,” Annie replies, giving her the thumbs up in the rear-view mirror as Beth pulls out her key card, winding down the window and swiping them in. She parks in her usual spot around the back, slides out of the car, and starts towards the main stretch of the lot. Pulling her jacket a little tighter around herself, she finds the post-it note folded in the back pocket of her jeans, thumbing it open to read the description and the address. 

“It’s a green Honda Civic,” Beth says, and Annie nods, burying her hands in the pockets of her hoodie. 

“Well, we know what the colour green looks like,” she replies, and Ruby makes a strangely strangled noise beside them. 

“I don’t think finding it will be a problem,” she says, and Beth glances over at her and then follows Ruby’s gaze across the lot. 

And she wishes it didn’t stop her heart like it did. Wishes she had some sort of control over herself, over _this_ , whatever it is, that simmers between them. Because he’s there, of course he’s there, leaning back against that green Honda Civic, a grin on his face as he talks to one of his boys. She could almost think that he hadn’t seen them yet, but she doesn’t think there’s any possible way that he couldn’t have – seems to have almost a sixth sense for knowing exactly who and what is in a space, particularly when it comes to her. 

And the thing is, she hasn’t seen all that much of him lately, at least, not since the last time they slept together – in both senses of the word – him feverish behind her on the sofa in her office, her panties wedged into the cushions and his hand big and firm around her breast as he thrust into her. She’d gotten sick herself afterwards, but had moved the cars he’d asked before letting herself fall in a heap, locking herself in her room, away from the world, for the better part of a week, trying to ignore Dean’s attempts to care for her by pouring tepid soup from a can in a bowl and buying the wrong drugs from the store. Rio had met her only three times since, and she’d been professional to the point of coldness ( _I get around_ echoing in her head like a mantra), and so he’d returned in kind, at least, he had until that night with Jane, with the dubby, with - - 

Beth takes a breath, picking up her pace and striding across the lot to him, adjusting her bag on her shoulder, grateful for the soft glow of the Boland Motors nightlights that might be able to hide her flush. 

Because he looks unfairly good. _Always_ looks unfairly good, but it feels especially so tonight in his black button-down shirt, tucked into his pants for a change, one of his nicer black coats covering both, his beanie down low to rest over the tops of his ears. She’s almost in front of him before he turns around to face her, and right, Beth thinks, searching in herself for something to say, and she means to ask him what he’s doing here, only instead she says: 

“How’d you get in here?”

Because right, that’s what matters. The security of the place he owns 60% of. He just grins at her, pulling a key card from his coat pocket, and she shakes her head, mouth open. 

“How’d you get _that_?”

And his grin doesn’t falter at her tone, not that it ever really does, pushing the key card back into his pocket as he shrugs. 

“Asked your secretary to make me one. You and me, we are _partners_ , remember?” 

Beth frowns, looking up at him, and Rio just smiles back down at her, and she really hadn’t realised how close they were standing until Annie coughs a little behind them. 

“Soooo, do we have a night off?” she asks hopefully, and Beth clears her throat, rocking back a little to stand aside as Rio looks Annie over, that careful, neutral expression finding his face again. And then it shifts, to something too kind, too relaxed, and Beth can feel her hackles raising, even before he speaks. 

“Nah, see, I figured you ladies might need some refresher training.” 

It’s still enough to make Beth blink, her head whipping back around to look at him, and it takes him a minute to pull his eyes away from Annie and Ruby, his lips forming a smirk when he turns his gaze back to Beth. 

“What?” she hisses, and he nods, sucking in his lips a little. 

“Oh, it’s normal, sweetheart,” he says, practically glowing from his pedestal. “You know, you do a job so long, you make some bad habits, you forget the rules. It’s okay. I figure we use tonight as an opportunity to go back over the company manual, get you ladies refamiliarized with the Code of Conduct, management expectations and what not.” 

And it takes Beth a moment to find her words, to temper all the ways she’s suddenly running red hot, her body tall and rigid and _furious_ , because no, that’s not what that is, he doesn’t get to - - she blinks, hard, exhaling. 

“We don’t need to be supervised,” she says, and Rio raises both eyebrows at her, pushing himself, just slightly, off the car. 

“Oh, you don’t?” 

“No,” she grits her teeth, stares unblinking at him as he makes a production out of looking between her, Annie and Ruby, his dark eyes wide, faux innocent. 

“So it was somebody else who pissed off our client last week?” 

Rio’s guy snorts at that, and Beth squares her shoulders, ignoring Annie and Ruby’s looks behind her, the night air nipping at her neck above her jacket and her ankles even through her jeans. She can hear the traffic, sliding up the road, the occasional horn, a siren, somewhere in the distance. 

“Those were extenuating circumstances,” she says, and he rocks his jaw backwards and then forwards again, something between amused and annoyed, and whatever, Beth thinks, trying to forget the terror in her gut when that man had told Annie to go down to the basement, when he’d told Ruby, the way he’d _looked_ at them. Trying to forget the surge of emotion she refused to give a name to when she’d opened the package with Jane’s dubby in it, Rio’s unmistakable chicken scratch across the front. 

She doesn’t owe him anything, she tells herself, and looking at him now, propped up on the car he’s asked her to drop, his gaze fixed on her, she knows she actually, truly doesn’t. She doesn’t know why he did it, but she knows, doesn’t know how she knows, but _knows_ that he didn’t do it for _that_. 

“Yeah?” he asks all the same, and before Beth can answer, she feels Ruby’s hand at her elbow, gripping her firmly, pulling her, just slightly, back towards her. 

“I mean, it’s not the worst thing,” Ruby says tentatively, her voice soft, and Beth swings back around to look at her and Annie behind her, both shuffling uncertainly. She can feel herself flush, fluster, scramble for her voice.

“ _What?_ ” 

“I mean, you said it yourself, Beth,” Annie says almost instantly, tugging the sleeves of her hoodie down to cover her little hands, studiously avoiding eye contact. “We’re amateurs.” 

“And I’m not going to lie, I’d feel safer with him around,” Ruby adds, the inference of _after last time_ heard loud and clear, and then, as if she’s just heard herself, she clenches her eyes shut and sighs. “God, that is not something I ever thought I’d say.” 

“Right?” Annie agrees, and Beth glowers at them both, standing up a little straighter, keeping her voice low, even though she _knows_ he can hear. 

“We don’t need him to hold our hand through this,” she hisses, and Annie and Ruby both just stare back at her, and Beth can feel Rio’s smug gaze before she even looks back at him. She scowls, tightens her jaw, because they all know what’s going to happen, and after a minute, she finally accepts it, walking back over to climb into the driver’s seat of the car, only Rio beats her to it, and it figures, she thinks, glaring daggers at him as he smiles at her, forcing her to step around the hood of the car towards the passenger seat, Annie hot on her heels. 

She sees Rio nod over at his boy, and the guy walks down the parking lot, climbing into Rio’s car, and well. That kind of figures too. 

“I’ll follow,” Ruby says, heading back towards Beth’s minivan, disappearing from sight, as Annie practically bounds into the backseat of the Honda, hooking her arms around Beth’s headrest and looking over at Rio. 

“Soooo,” Annie says. “Nothing better to do tonight, or…” 

She trails off, and Rio doesn’t even look at her, just starts the engine and pulls out of the line up of cars in the lot, swiftly getting onto the road, Ruby trailing them in Beth’s car and Rio’s boy in his not far behind. And it occurs to her, of course it does, that even though they’ve been in a car together before, it’s always been hers, and Beth has always been driving, and she kind of gets why he does it that way – there’s a strange sort of power in being able to watch somebody else while they’re focused on the road. 

“Not one for small talk, huh?” Annie says, and it’s directed at Rio, but from the way her arms are hooked around Beth’s headrest, they’re said straight in her ear. “You should know you’re missing out. I’ve been told I deliver some of the _best_ small talk in town. I can seriously have high quality, casual conversations about anything – weather, your local sports team, work, family, friends, friends with benefits, significant others. Hey, so, actually, those last few bring us to an _interesting_ question – ” 

Beth snaps around in her seat. 

“ _Annie_ ,” she hisses, and Annie just gestures wildly, arms flailing. 

“What?” 

“ _Stop._ And put your seatbelt on. God, are you five?” 

Annie makes a production out of throwing her hands up, wriggling back into her seat. She clips herself in, thrusting her chin out at Beth and making insane person eyes back at her, and Beth just glowers in return, turning back around, and feeling a sudden rush of embarrassment when she realises they’re stopped at a red light and that Rio’s watching her. 

There’s a heavy pause before Annie’s voice breaks the silence. 

“All I’m saying is that _I_ certainly wouldn’t go into a drug den to collect a fuck buddy’s kid’s blankie.” 

And Beth must be about as red as the traffic light, mortified into silence, and she studiously avoids everyone’s gaze by looking straight out the window and when, thankfully, the light goes green, and when the car doesn’t immediately move, she nods her head. 

“Green means go,” she says, like she’s in the car with Janey and oh, god, that’s - - 

That’s also very embarrassing. 

Fuck.

There’s a pregnant silence after that as Rio accelerates again, driving them through the lights and towards the drop, and Annie only kicks the back of Beth’s seat – probing for conversation – two or three times, which, really, for her, is a record level of restraint. Beth mostly just focuses on keeping her face carefully neutral, her gaze occasionally skirting over to Rio in the driver’s seat, but if he notices, he never says anything. In fact, he doesn’t say anything at all, at least, he doesn’t until Annie groans loudly from the backseat, blatantly opening her mouth to speak. 

“This client,” Rio says, cutting Annie off. “He’s new.” 

“Right,” Beth says, nodding, sitting up a little straighter in the passenger seat, and Rio does that thing where he rocks his jaw backwards and then forwards again, as if debating telling her something. 

“I don’t like him much.” 

The words are heavy in the hollow of the car, and Beth blinks, turning enough in her seat to look at him. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean I don’t rate him.”

“Then why are we working with him?” 

“Because you burned a lot of bridges to better clients when you got me arrested.” 

And his voice is so taut when he says it that Beth reels back a little, like she’s been slapped, and she can’t help it, the way she pushes her seat back as far as it will go, forcing Annie further behind her like she can somehow shield her if Rio decides to do something rash, and she doesn’t truly think it, she _doesn’t_ , but still. They so rarely talk about that. She can’t help it. 

Her brain ticks over.

“Is that why you’re here?” 

And he obviously sees where her mind’s gone, because he rolls his eyes, drumming his fingers a little on the steering wheel in clear annoyance.

“Nah, darlin’, I’m here because you thought it was a _smart move_ to walk you and your lady friends into some bottom feeder’s house and act like you were jack shit.” 

Beth scowls, looking up at him, feeling Annie’s hand snake up between the passenger seat and the car door, reaching to clutch Beth’s elbow. 

“I am,” Beth says. “I am jack shit. I’m _good_ at all of this, and if you can’t - - ”

And he laughs, something hollow and ugly, and before she can continue, he speaks again: 

“You’re good at _parts_ of this,” he says. “Don’t do that. Don’t play. Doin’ shit like that is what’s gonna get you killed.” 

And Beth’s breath catches in her throat. They’re quiet then for a minute, Annie’s hand still tightly clutching Beth’s elbow, and it’s Rio who caves, releasing a tightly held breath. 

“Look, all I’m sayin’ is just let me do the talkin’ tonight, alright?” Rio says as the car starts to slow. 

“There’s usually no talking at all,” Beth replies curtly, because she can’t quite help herself, and Rio just gives her a look she can’t name before he fixes his gaze back out ahead of them, sliding the car to park outside of somebody’s low slung house, and they’re waiting until Ruby drives by, circling the block and finally parking on the opposite side of the street, Rio’s boy, in Rio’s car, parking half a block up, but still in an easy distance. 

And then they’re all out of their respective cars. Rio nods to his boy, who steps neatly in line behind him, and they leave Beth, Annie and Ruby in the weedy front yard as they walk up towards the house. Beth steps forwards, as if to follow, and Rio turns back and looks at her, makes a gesture she doesn’t recognise or understand, and Beth stops and, without thinking, backs up. 

The night is thick around them, with only a few streetlights to ward off the dark, cicadas buzzing, the distant thrum of a party, somewhere close, and they stand there watching as Rio knocks on the door, see it get answered by some surly, big guy with an ugly smear of a frown, and then Rio and his boy disappear inside and then - - nothing. 

It’s maybe thirty seconds before one of them finally talks. 

“Should we leave?” Ruby says uncertainly, nodding towards the car. “I mean, we’ve done the drop, and his car is literally just there. It’s not like we’re his ride.” 

And Beth is suddenly thrumming with tension, looking up towards the house, then back at Annie and Ruby, and had he wanted her to follow? He’d told her to let him do the talking, told her again that they were partners back at the lot, but the way he’d gestured, the way he’d _looked_ at her – she didn’t understand what she was supposed to _do_. Finally, she just thinks _screw it_ , and she says, “Wait here, I’ll be back in a minute,” and, on second thought – she passes Annie her handbag (she’d only managed to finish syncing her new phone to the cloud that morning after all, and she doesn’t want to have to line up at the DMV _again_ to replace her driver’s license) before striding up towards the house. She pauses halfway, and looks back at them, watching her nervously from the yard. “If you hear anything, you go and you leave, okay?” 

And they both just stare at her as she straightens her coat, wiping the anxious sweat from her palms on her jeans, and she briefly thinks about knocking and then, _no_. She is _more_ than this. She’s more than jack shit. She’s the Boss Bitch. She squares her shoulders and she pushes in.

*

There’s a ringing in her ears.

Loud, too loud, as she blinks her eyes open, didn’t remember closing them, head groggy, and somewhere above her she can hear yelling, can hear a crash, hears a gun shot and a yell, and she can hear another gun shot, somewhere far away or too close, she’s not sure, can’t hear it over the sound of all that ringing, can’t even feel it over the too fast, getting faster beat of her heart. 

She’s on the floor. This dirty, awful floor, her fingers scrambling against the cheap linoleum, and her knees ache, and she pushes up to stand only to gasp at the sharp pain in her arm, collapsing bodily back down. Somebody else yells above her, and Beth looks up, sees a man run past her, out the open front door, into the street, and Beth gasps, because Annie and Ruby, because they’re out there – or - - 

No. 

She racks her head. She remembers coming through the door. Remembers getting halfway down the hallway before hearing Rio’s voice, loud, hoarse with anger in a way she hasn’t had directed at her maybe ever, different somehow, to the way he’s usually angry with her, and she’d picked up her pace, needing to see it, needing to see _him_ , adrenaline coursing through her veins, and she’d gotten to the doorway of the living room at the same time that that big, surly man had pulled out his gun, aiming it at Rio, and she’d gasped, or yelled, or _something_ , and Rio had turned to her so quickly, his eyes so wide she could see the whites the whole way around his irises, and then there’d been a gunshot, and Rio had yelled “Get _out_ ,” and so she had – tearing back down the hall, and there had been footsteps behind her and the front door had sprung open and it had been Annie and Ruby there, and Beth’s eyes had felt so wide as she’d rushed forwards, wanting – _needing_ – to get them out of the house, and she’d gestured wildly at them to run and it was then that she’d felt it, the rush of heat at her arm, then the near crippling pain that knocked her down, and Annie had screamed, and Beth had fallen, and then - - 

Her breathing is coming in hot and sharp, and she doesn’t know how long it’s been, but she thinks it’s only seconds, forces the pain aside to sit up, to scramble across the floor towards the door, and then there are footsteps behind her again, and suddenly she’s being hauled up and dragged from the house, her feet barely touching the ground until they are – until she’s staggering forwards, out into the night, and it’s Rio, of course it’s Rio, his arm around her waist as he drags her out to his car up the street, and she has the vague awareness to her to know that her minivan is gone as Rio unlocks his own car, shoving her gracelessly into it and then across the gear stick into the passenger seat, enough that her legs drag awkwardly over the dash and he’s shoving her further, pushing her head down between her legs, away from the windows, out of sight, as he climbs into the driver’s seat after her, too quick to be anything except urgent.

She’s not even had the chance to _think_ about any of it before Rio’s tearing the car off down the street, cursing under his breath as he pulls down a few side streets before ripping onto the highway, and he must be well and truly over the speed limit, but Beth doesn’t care, Beth doesn’t care about anything or anyone except Annie and Ruby, and she’s surging up and forwards, her hands scrambling across his body, his coat pockets, his shirt pockets, the front of his jeans. 

“What-” he can’t even get it out before she’s hissing at him like cat in a corner.

“Give me your phone. Just _give me your phone_.” 

And he’s pushing her back, away from him, his eyes wide, and his expression drawn. 

“You need to calm down.” 

“ _Give it to me_ ” she yells, and he lifts his ass off his car seat, pulling his phone from the back pocket of his pants and throwing it at her and Beth’s fumbling with it, dialling Annie’s number with shaking fingers, and when she gets her message bank, she lets out a tense exhale, dialling Ruby’s number instead, and when the line is dead, she lets out a guttural sob she can’t contain. She turns in her seat towards him, righteously furious. “What happened? Why did you take us there? Was it to teach me a lesson? I told you, I only went in because my daughter left something in the car, you didn’t need to do this, you didn’t need to – they could be - -”

And she can’t finish the thought, she’s shaking so hard, and she doesn’t even realise Rio is pulling into the highway emergency bays until he does, until they’re stopped, and she’s typing in Annie’s number again, and Rio’s grabbing her neck forcefully, turning her face around towards his. 

“You need to take a breath. You need to do it right now, yeah?” he tells her, his gaze fixed, and Beth scrambles against him, trying to push him back, off her, but she’s barely able to breathe, her cheeks wet, and then Rio’s phone is ringing with Annie’s number, and he’s answering it before she can. 

“Yeah, she’s okay,” he says. “You? Okay, yeah.”

He pushes the phone into his chest to cover the mouthpiece, his other hand still around Beth’s neck, and says, “They’re good. Your girls. My boy got ‘em out. Not a scratch on neither of ‘em. Your sister, she’s where you are right now, so you gotta be ma, yeah? Be the boss bitch. Make your kid sister okay.” 

And Beth surges forwards, almost tearing the phone from his hands, and her eyes quiver shut when she hears Annie’s sobs over the line. 

“Beth?” Annie cries. “ _Beth_.”

“I’m here, I’m okay, oh god, where are you?” 

Annie starts crying almost hysterically, and then there’s a brief scuffle over the line and it’s Ruby’s voice then, shaky and yet somehow still firm. 

“Demon got us in your van,” Ruby says. “He’s taking us home. We’re fine, Beth, where are you? Are you okay? It looked like you -- ” 

And she trails off, her voice breaking with a sob, and Beth’s crying too, pressing herself back into the car door, relieved and terrified and something else she can’t explain and she shifts her body away from Rio, even though he’s making a point out of studiously avoiding looking at her at all, like he can’t see and hear her, like they’re not caught in his car together, rain pelting down against the windscreen – and god, when had it started raining? - and so she inhales sharply and tries to shake herself out of it. 

“I’m okay,” Beth says, trying to ground herself, trying to focus on Ruby’s breaths, on Annie’s, crackling over the phone line. They’re okay, she tells herself, they’re okay, they’re okay, they’re okay, and so is she, so she says that again. 

“Just get home,” Beth says. “Get back to the kids. I’ll come by tomorrow. I love you.” 

And Ruby hisses in a breath, agreeing, repeating the sentiment back to her, and then the line goes dead, and Beth throws Rio’s phone unceremoniously back at him, swiping angrily at her face with both hands only to cry out as she’s reminded of the pain in her arm, which is enough to catch Rio’s attention. 

“Somethin’ hurt?” he asks sharply, and Beth scowls over at him, burrows herself further back against the car door. 

“No,” she says. “If we’re done for the night, just take me home.” 

But he’s leaning closer instantly, turning the car interior light on, and Beth blinks, uncertain, doesn’t even really know it herself, but now that she’s felt it (now that she knows Annie and Ruby are okay) the pain in her arm is sharp and relentless. And she hasn’t even seen it, but Rio’s gaze fixes on it below the ugly car fluorescents and he scowls.

“Give me your arm,” he says, and Beth can’t help herself, doesn’t know why, but she grits her teeth. 

“ _No_.” 

“Give me your arm,” he repeats, louder this time, and Beth fumbles further back against the car door, feeling too raw, too vulnerable, just - - just too _much_.

“I’m fine,” she says, but then Rio’s darting forwards to grab her arm, yanking it towards him, holding it up to the car light. It hurts enough that she cries out, but it’s nothing compared to the hoarseness of his voice when he curses as they both actually see the bullet graze, and god, how hadn’t she seen it? How had she been able to forget it? It’s torn through her jacket and her black turtle neck, leaving a heavy groove in her upper arm, a few inches below her shoulder – blood oozing into the fabric of both. Beth tries to tug her arm out of his grip, but he holds fast, his gaze finally flicking up to meet her own, but he doesn’t say anything. 

“Just drop me at the hospital,” she says, voice heavy now with the pain of it, and Rio’s scowl only deepens. 

“And tell ‘em what?” 

She pauses, tries to summon a lie, but god. She’s so tired, her head still a little groggy from fainting (and probably blood loss, but - - ). 

“That I was caught in a drive-by, I don’t know.” 

And he huffs out a laugh at that, his eyes briefly slipping shut, his jaw rocking forwards and then backwards again in that way that it does. 

“Okay,” he tells her, sucking in a breath, finally, properly, letting her go, and re-starting the engine.

*

She thought he might have dropped her home, but instead he only pulls off the highway for long enough to drive back onto it, heading back the way they’d come, towards downtown instead of out of it. Until they’re passing local landmarks and restaurants Beth keeps meaning to visit – good ones and fancy ones and a few she’s even been to. She’s so tired, so focused on the pain in her arm, on the sound of the rain around them, the windscreen wipers working against the windshield, that she doesn’t even really wonder where they’re going until Rio pulls into a nice-looking, middle class apartment building, lugging Beth out of the passenger seat and tossing his keys to the valet.

It’s only the shock of the last hour that stops her from taking it all in, that stops her from questioning it, that somehow stops her from even being surprised when Rio jerks off his coat, draping it over her shoulders to cover her bloody arm and pull her close to him – enough to be a cover, like any couple going home, but also enough to stop her tearing off down the street or slipping out of sight to catch a cab home. He pulls her into the building, into the elevator, nodding at the young couple who stumble out before them, giggling into each other’s necks, and punches in the floor number. 

He’s almost painfully quiet in the elevator, and Beth sways a little on the spot, the pain in her arm seeming to suddenly spike, and she feels nauseous, like she could vomit or faint again or both, and she’s painfully aware that the only thing keeping her upright right now is Rio’s arm around her waist. 

“Where are we going?” she asks, and god, does her voice sound that shaky? Rio looks down at her, holds her a little firmer. 

“Somewhere safe,” he replies, and the elevator doors ping open, and he’s pulling her out and down the hallway, finally coming to a stop at one of the doors, unlocking it, and pushing them both inside. 

The place is nice, she thinks, not too big, but roomy enough, with clean walls and long, polished wood floors, and she wonders briefly if it’s _his place_ , feeling something strange in her belly at the prospect, only no, she thinks, looking around as he deposits her in one of the seats at the kitchen table, beelining himself for the cabinets, it can’t be. It’s utterly stock standard, almost to the point of looking like a display home – there’s not a personal touch in sight, although it is moderately furnished – the kitchen table she’s sitting at, a fridge, microwave and kettle – she can even see a plush looking sofa in the living room beyond them and the corner of a large TV. There are even some prints on the wall, but they look like the sort of generic, mass produced work sold to hotels, and that doesn’t really seem like Rio’s style. 

“What is this place?” she asks tentatively, at least a little glad to have the distraction from the pain in her arm. 

Rio doesn’t answer, just rifles through the kitchen cabinets. He pulls out two glasses, then a bottle of whiskey, pouring her a cup, sliding it across the kitchen table towards her, and then one for himself, which he finishes in a single swig. 

“Is it yours?” she asks, not drinking yet, and Rio nods, topping up his drink and walking around to Beth. He pulls his coat off her shoulders, folding it over the back of one of the other chairs, and tugs off his beanie, before helping her out of her own jacket. 

“It’s just a place I use sometimes.” 

“For what?” 

“Jobs mostly. Or when shit like this happens. Not too many people know about it. I have a couple around the place.” 

And she considers that, biting the inside of her cheek. 

“How much money do you have?” she asks, squinting a little, and Rio just grins, tapping her glass of whiskey, and she brings it to her lips obediently with her uninjured arm, taking a generous sip. The familiar burn of it on her tongue is oddly calming, and she leans back in the seat a little as Rio disappears into a room she guesses is the bathroom, coming back only moments later with a first aid kit which he drops unceremoniously to the tabletop, grabbing the chair beside Beth and dragging it around closely to her. He leans in, looking at her arm, pulling lightly at the fabric of her sleeve, where it’s matted thick with blood. He lifts it slightly from the tear point, then looks up quickly when Beth inhales sharply at the sudden pain. 

He goes back to the first aid kit, rifling through it and pulling out a wrapped needle and a small vial. 

“What is that?” she asks, as he starts to tear open the needle wrapping, shaking the vial a little with his other hand. 

“For the pain,” is all he says, thumb covering the label, but Beth frantically shakes her head, grabbing his arm with her good one. 

“No, I don’t like that stuff,” because she knows it’s an opioid of some kind, knows it too well, and she just - - she doesn’t like it, had it only once at hospital after breaking her wrist playing a game with her sons, and she says as much, adding, “It makes me feel funny.” 

Rio looks at her, his forehead furrowed, his eyes searching her face for something she doesn’t know.

“You sure?” 

She nods, and so he puts it away, finds her a couple of Advil in the first aid kit, handing them over and topping up her whiskey instead. He leans back in his seat, watching her swallow them down, and she thinks if nothing else, at least the whiskey’s made her hands stop shaking.

“Who were those guys?” she asks, and Rio’s frown only deepens. 

“Some bottom feedin’ crew. They wanted to pay less than what they owed, figured since I’d only brought one of my boys, they could get away with that. They were wrong.”

He pauses then, leaning over to tug the bloodied, split fabric away from the graze on her arm, and Beth inhales sharply at the pain of the movement. 

“Did you know that would happen?” 

“I didn’t have a reason to think it, if that’s what you mean,” he says. “But I had a feelin’. Like I told you before, I didn’t like that guy.” 

Beth clocks the past tense, and she looks at him quickly, sees the weight of it on him, and suddenly he looks too old and too young all at once, his eyes hooded and his face drawn. 

“Is that why you came with us tonight?” 

He nods curtly, and Beth looks away. 

“I can’t - - I mean, in those situations, I can’t do that,” she says, and Rio nods. 

“I shouldn’t have given you and your girls that drop,” he agrees. “It should always have been me.” 

He smiles a little wryly. 

“Probably with a few more boys too. I owe Demon big.” 

Beth exhales softly, and then, just to release the bubble of tension in her throat, she says, “And that’s _before_ his long car-ride to the suburbs with Annie.” 

And Rio barks on a laugh at that, so sudden, so surprising that Beth laughs too. And for a moment, she can ignore the pain, can ignore the look of him, leaning back in his seat, considering her. His jaw rocks forwards and then backwards again, as if assessing something, and then finally, she sees it on his face – he makes a decision. 

“You need to take off your shirt.” 

And if she’d been drinking, she thinks she would’ve done a spit take. As it is though she just blinks, feels the blood rush to her cheeks, bright and red, even through the pain. 

“Excuse me?” 

“Can’t clean you up properly while you’re wearin’ it.” 

Beth blinks, looking away, and then back at him, searching for any hint of a smirk or a leer, but his face is carefully blank, and Beth looks down at her black turtleneck and only feels her blush deepen. 

“Elizabeth,” he says, his voice soft. “I gotta get a better look at it.” 

And finally, she nods, polishing off her whiskey and putting the glass back on the table, her uninjured arm going for the hem of her shirt, tugging it up slowly, and it’s harder than it should be, doing this one-handed, but then – then she doesn’t have to. Rio’s on his feet, his hands grabbing the bottom of her shirt, gently tugging it up, stretching the fabric wide enough she can wriggle her good arm out of it, stretching the neck to pull it over her head, and then slowly, gently, peeling it off her injured arm. 

And then she’s just _there_ , and maybe she’s never felt this vulnerable, dressed in nothing but her jeans and an old lilac lace bra, the sides fraying a little, her nipples pink and visible through the thin fabric. She covers her breasts with her free arm as best she can. 

She’s not sure what she expected, but it’s not Rio tossing her balled up shirt away from them, sitting back down and studiously avoiding looking at anything except her arm. He wasn’t wrong, like this they can both see it better – the deep gauge in her arm, a few inches below her shoulder. Removing her shirt has smeared the blood, thick and almost black across her pale skin, and Rio gently holds her arm in his big hand, turning it slightly to get a better look, and a wave of nausea hits her so hard and so urgently, she thinks briefly, again, that she might faint. 

And maybe Rio sees it, the grey tinge to her face, the way her mouth opens, wet and panting with the pain or the shock, she doesn’t know, because then his hand is on her cheek, stroking her hair away from her face. 

“How’s Kenny doin’?” 

“What?” she asks, surprised by the question, and Rio repeats it, adds: 

“He still swimmin’?” 

“Yes,” Beth says, ignoring how cold she feels when Rio drops his hand and abruptly stands, rolling up his sleeves and stepping towards the kitchen sink. He washes his hands quickly, then his forearms, in a way she’s only seen doctors and nurses do before pulling babies out of her. “Dean wants him to try out for football instead though. That’s what he did, so.” 

“Yeah? That what Kenny wants?” 

“He wants to do whatever Dean wants him to do.” 

“Boys are like that,” Rio concurs, grabbing a few paper towels from below the sink, dropping back to the chair beside Beth. He takes her arm in his hand, turning it slightly to get a better look at the wound again, and Beth tries to conceal her grimace at the spike of pain at the movement. 

“Your son want to be like daddy too?” Beth asks, and can hear the dash of unkindness in her voice that she wishes she could keep out of it, but it doesn’t really seem to bother Rio, who lowers her arm gently and instead makes neat work unpacking the first aid kit. He grabs a bag of antiseptic wipes out, a vial of saline, then tweezers, a bandage, and a small suture pack. Beth can feel her heart quicken. 

“Sure thinks he does,” Rio says, still rifling through the kit. “But that ain’t gonna happen. Marcus is gonna be Marcus, you know? My job’s to make him better than me.” 

And Marcus. She blinks. She’s never known his name – Rio’s only ever called him ‘pa’ or ‘pop’, and so having this little name to give to that little face startles her. 

“Does he know?” 

“Nah, not really, but kids pick up more shit than you ever want them to.” 

And don’t they just? She bites the inside of her cheek, feeling something in her chest tighten.

“Kenny’s having troubles at school. You think you’re protecting them from all of it, but…” she sighs, gaze darting back to Rio when she hears him tearing open the sterile cloth packaging. Her heartrate picks up, and Rio looks over at her. 

“What sort of troubles?”

“What?” 

“Tell me about what’s goin’ on.” 

She blinks, and she knows he’s just trying to distract her, but there’s an edge to his voice like he cares, and it twists in her belly, because he _doesn’t_ , because he _gets around_ , but then an image of Jane, curled around her dubby flashes behind her eyelids, and - - 

“He’s eating.” 

“Doesn’t sound like much of a trouble to me.” 

“No, like, _eating_. Binge eating. Stealing other kids’ food, teachers’ food. I had to go pick him up from the security office in the mall last week because he took someone’s meal in the foodcourt. The thing is, I don’t even know what’s causing it, because there’s so much in his life that’s been changing, and I just – ”

She gasps, the pressure of the cloth hard against her arm, spiking the pain, Rio’s grip almost too firm on her and she wants to wriggle away, but he won’t let her.

“Come on, ma, we’re just stopping the last of the bleeding,” he says. “Keep talking.” 

Her voice quivers a little, and she squirms back into the seat. Can’t quite find the words as Rio makes careful, not-quite gentle work of stopping the bleeding and then, when that’s done, grabbing the saline solution to wash it. He pours a little on, and they both watch as the liquid runs through the wound, reddening with blood as it tracks down her pale arm. She’s biting her lip so hard she can taste pennies, and Rio massages below the underside of the limb softly as he grabs a medical pad to press into the wound and soak up the saline. Her eyes widen with the pressure and the pain again, her tongue thick in her mouth with it. 

“You gonna get him into therapy?” 

“I – yes – I,” she blinks, too hard. “I don’t want to talk about my son anymore. Not here. Not like this.” 

Rio sighs a little, hoarse, and looks over at the first aid kit contents he’d emptied out across the table, and then back at her arm, lifting the pad and looking at it. He makes a noise in the back of his throat, leaning in so close that she can feel his breath on her skin - _in_ her skin. She shudders, feeling suddenly cold again, tightening her grip on her breasts, squeezing until she realises it just makes her cleavage more defined, and a wave of self-consciousness hits her all over again. 

Not that he’s looking. Rio’s leaning over the table, still gripping her arm with one hand, but grabbing the sealed bag with the tweezers with the other. She shoots him a questioning look. 

“There’s bits of your shirt in it,” he tells her, tone apologetic. “Threads and bits of fabric and shit.” 

Beth blinks up at him, nodding tautly, as he tears the bag open with his teeth, pulling the tweezers out with the hand not currently clutching her arm. She trembles slightly, and he must feel it, but he doesn’t say anything, just leans in close and gently pushes the tweezers in. And they’re cold, so cold, and Beth is shaking at the sharpness of the pain, at the feel of them inside her, and she’s blinking back tears, lips quivering, when Rio says:

“Your sister talks a lot of shit,” and it’s Beth’s turn to bark on a laugh. 

“How’d you figure that?” she asks, and Rio looks up at her only briefly, a grin tugging at his lips, before he looks back down at the wound, pulling a tiny, bloody dot of fabric out. He drops it to one of the paper towels on the table. 

“She always been like that?” 

“I think she came out of the womb talking,” Beth allows, and he huffs out a little laugh at that, pulling out another thread. “It used to drive our mom crazy, so she’d just like, hand her over to me, and I’d look after her. She’s annoying, but I don’t know. I fell in love with her the first time I held her.” 

“You much older than her?” 

Beth nods, looking ahead as Rio pulls out another bit of thread. He reaches for the saline again, washing it a little, and then leans in to look, he turns her arm over in his hand, 

“Almost eleven years,” Beth says. 

“Damn. I can’t imagine that.” 

“You have siblings?” 

“Two sisters,” and it shocks her, how quickly, how easily he’d said it, and it occurs to her for the first time that maybe half the reason she doesn’t know anything about him is that she simply doesn’t _ask_. Still, she bites the inside of her cheek, looking at him, considering. 

“Older sisters,” she decides, and Rio arches an eyebrow. 

“Both of ‘em.” 

“I can tell. My very minor superpower is picking people’s birth orders,” she says, a little smugly, and Rio makes a face at her, his voice deadpan and more than a little mocking when he speaks. 

“You put that on your resume?” 

“They’re not supposed to be _good_ superpowers. They’re _minor_. Everyone has a very minor superpower,” Beth says. “Annie’s is knowing whenever customers are going to steal waitstaff tips in restaurants. Ruby’s is being a tiny bit psychic, but only for knowing exactly what song is going to play next on the radio. Dean’s is being able to get any scratch or mark, no matter how deep, out of wooden furniture.” 

She sucks in a breath when Rio adjusts the tweezers back into the wound, pushing a little deeper, pinching a bit of fabric. 

“Last bit,” he tells her, hearing it, and Beth blinks, nods sharply. 

“What’s yours?” she asks.

“Huh?” 

“Your very minor super power. Everyone has one,” she repeats, and Rio doesn’t answer right away, tweezers still fishing in the wound and she thinks maybe he won’t answer at all until he says: 

“I can tell what species a bird is from pretty far away.” 

And it surprises her so much Beth just stops, staring at Rio as he plucks the last bit of fabric out of the wound.

“You bird watch?” she asks, baffled, and Rio rolls his eyes, dropping the tweezers down to the table and reaching back for the saline again. 

“I don’t bird watch,” he says. “I just know a lot about birds. I was into them as a kid, and I have a good memory for shit, so.” 

“Right,” Beth says, and she can’t stop her grin at the thought of a baby Rio (who looks suspiciously like Marcus, only with tattoos) wearing a pair of binoculars, a safari hat, a guide book on birds of Chicago beneath his arm. 

“Is that what the neck tattoo is about?” 

He sighs, giving her a deadpan look like he’s instantly regretted telling her, and Beth tries to smother her grin, play it cool, like this random, personal snippet of information hasn’t brought her an intense amount of joy. She can’t wait to see Annie and Ruby’s faces when she tells them. 

“You ever had stitches before?” he asks her, and Beth can’t help but laugh at the obvious subject change. 

“I have four children,” she says, and he rolls his eyes at that, like she knew he would, but at least there’s a grin tugging at his lips then too. 

“Had stitches north of there?” 

“I had a C-section,” she says, because those stitches were very different to the ones made after her natural births. “And I broke a glass once, and I cut myself on it when I was cleaning it up. It was only a few though.” 

He nods, makes a face at her, and says: 

“This is gonna hurt more than that. You sure you don’t want the drugs?” 

And she just laughs, a little emptily, rocking her head back to look up at the ceiling, nodding, and Rio grabs the whiskey bottle, topping up her drink, and offering it to her. She pulls her uninjured arm away from covering herself just long enough to throw the drink back, and drop the glass back to the table, and when she looks at him again, he’s watching her, an expression on his face she doesn’t know how to read. 

“Well,” she says, gesturing, and he huffs out a little laugh, reaching for the suture kit. 

She’s not sure how long it takes, but Rio makes patient, practiced work of stitching up the wound, and by the end of it, she’s woozy with pain, but stands up, and immediately rocks sideways, and she probably would’ve met the floor again if it wasn’t for the way Rio grabs her. His entire body pressed into her as he looks down at her, as if debating something, then finally, he wraps her good arm around his neck, says, “Hold on, yeah?” and grabs her below her thighs, lifting her, and it shouldn’t take her straight back to the bathroom, to the last time they were like this, but it does, and Beth hides her flushed face into his neck as he walks them forwards, out of the kitchen and into the bedroom, lowering her down onto the bed. 

He pulls the covers down enough for her to wriggle underneath them, but she doesn’t, not yet, instead twists a little back into the cushions, her good hand going up to rub at her face, try to re-centre herself, and when she opens her eyes again, his gaze pointedly flicks back to her face, and something heated uncurls in her belly when she realises he’d finally actually looked at her chest. And it should feel - - she doesn’t know how it should feel, but she doesn’t cover herself again. 

“I’ll take you home in the morning,” Rio tells her. “Make sure the stitches take. Get your head back together before you go back to that big ol’ house and everythin’ in it.” 

She nods, watching him, and he moves to leave, to go where, she’s not sure, but she doesn’t want him to, she wants - - 

“Why’d you go get it?” she asks quietly, and Rio stops in the doorway, turning back to stare at her. “The du - - Jane’s blanket. Why’d you go back and get it?” 

“I didn’t - -” he says quickly, and then he sighs, and when he speaks this time, it’s slow. Slower than usual. “You been right before, about more shit than you realise. I wasn’t gonna risk you bein’ right about that. Not when there was a little kid involved.” 

“But you would’ve figured out she wasn’t there pretty quickly. And it’s just a blanket, it’s not anything, not to you.”

“What do you want me to say?” he asks her, voice loaded suddenly with frustration, and Beth frowns, looking over at him, at the way the hallway light catches around his tall, narrow body, casting his shadow long into the room, and she lets out a shaky, annoyed breath, and suddenly she doesn’t want to do this anymore, doesn’t want to have to look at this thing between them, doesn’t want to have to look at him, doesn’t want to do any of it. 

“Fine,” she says sullenly, making a production out of closing her eyes, flopping down harder in the bed, ignoring the stab of pain in her arm. “I’m going to sleep now. I want to go home early, so.” 

And she kicks off her boots and is trying to get her jeans off one-handed, doesn’t want to sleep in them, when she hears Rio huff, annoyed, and then he’s standing beside the bed, batting her hand away and making neat, quick work of undoing the button and unzipping her fly, yanking her jeans down her legs and off for her. He folds them, and then drops them to the floor.

“Thanks,” she says tersely, lying there in her lilac lace bra and her white cotton panties, and he gives her a tight, pissed off grin, starts to leave and then - - she grabs his wrist. And she’s still so annoyed, but she’s also - - she’s also just a lot of things. Hot and tired and grateful and sore and _mad at him_ and also - - 

Also she doesn’t want him to go.

She wets her lips, dragging his hand over to her upper thigh, ghosting her fingers on top of his and guiding him to spread his hand to clutch it. Clutch _her_. She exhales softly when, after a second, he spreads his fingers there, wide enough to swallow the width of her pale skin, gripping her hard, then softening, and he’s watching it too, his hand on her, and she can’t help it. She can’t stop all the ways that she wants this. 

Her hand still on top of his, she drags them both up to her hip, across the soft flesh of her belly, his thumb caressing the thin line of her c-section scar, before she pushes his hand down to the top of her panties. And he stops her – steeling his arm, and she looks up at him, at his intense focus and his drawn, heated look. 

“You’ve been shot,” he tells her, voice hoarse. 

“Grazed,” she replies, pushing both their hands down beneath the fabric of her panties, resisting the urge to press her thighs together when his fingers ghost over her cunt. “I’ll be careful.” 

And it makes him laugh, something hoarse and low. 

“Darlin’, you are a lot of things, but careful ain’t one of them.” 

And she narrows her eyes at him, opening her mouth to retort when his hand suddenly tightens – the heel of his hand grinding up against her clit as his fingers grip her mound, and she gasps at the sudden pressure, her own hand coming out of her panties to grab at his neck, pulling him closer, and then he’s sliding a finger inside her, almost too easily, and God, how is she this wet already? She tries to clench her thighs together, but he doesn’t let her, shoving her legs back open with the hand not buried in her, and then he’s clambering up onto the bed, and she can hear two thumps, and realises that he’s kicked off his shoes, and he’s sinking another finger in her, moving his thumb to her clit to circle it _hard_ , and she’s gasping even before he gets on top of her, even before he rips her panties off her with his free hand, far enough down she can wriggle them off the rest of the way herself, and her head is so full of how many _firsts_ this is – him on top of her, them in a bed, but then he’s crawling down her body, biting her breast through the lace cup of her bra, the soft flesh of her stomach, and then his mouth is on her, which might just be her favourite first of all. 

She moans, or she thinks she moans, she’s not really sure what the sound she makes is, but whatever it is makes Rio’s tongue press harder against her, makes him grab her leg with his free hand, swing it over his shoulder, and she’s digging her heel into his back, hard enough to bruise, and then her hands are scrambling at his head, at his neck, and then, she cries out in pain, and she hadn’t meant to use her bad arm, but she regrets making the noise, because Rio’s lifting his head to look up at her cautiously, and his lips are _wet with her_. 

“I’m fine,” she says, a little breathless, ignoring the pain in her arm. “Keep going.” 

And she digs her heel into his back, tries to push him back down, and he rolls his eyes, breathes, “ _Bossy_ ,” into her inner thigh before biting it, _hard_. She keens, and she’s not sure if she’s wriggling into it or away from it, but she doesn’t have to wonder for long, because he moves his mouth back to her clit, slipping a third finger into her, fucking her with them in earnest, and his fingers are _big_ \- longer and wider than they have any right to be – certainly longer and wider than her own, when she’s done this to herself, clinging to the memory of the way he’d done it in the bathroom – and it stretches her too well, all of it stretches her, every part of her, and she’s shuddering through her orgasm, but he keeps going, and she’s not ready to go again, feels too tingly, too _much_ , and she tries to pull him away with her hand, but he doesn’t have enough hair to grab, and so she lifts her foot off his back to his shoulder, and _kicks him off her_. 

And he’s laughing, of course he’s laughing, sliding his fingers out of her and crawling up her body, nipping her belly, her nipple, the dip of her clavicle on his way up, and then he’s _kissing_ her, and oh, god, Beth thinks, because this is the first time they’ve done this too, and she can taste herself in his mouth, but she can also still taste _him_. He bites her lip, licks his way into her mouth, and Beth loops her injured arm around his neck again, pulling him closer, and suddenly the thin lace of her bra feels like too much clothing, and maybe she wants to see it. Wants to see the look on his face when he finally, really _sees_ her. She arches up against him, pushing her breasts into his still-clothed chest, hearing him make a deep noise of approval, and she’s fumbling with her good arm behind her for the clasp on her bra. 

She unhooks it, feeling the material go lax over her, and wriggles an arm out, and it’s only then that he realises what’s happening, because he breaks the kiss, pulling back a little, watching her with hooded eyes as she slides off her bra and she can _hear_ it, the way his breath stutters when she gets it all the way off. And she _knows_ what she’s got – has known she’s been well-endowed in that region since she was in highschool and realised regular department stores didn’t stock her cup size, and sure, Dean had never exactly neglected them, but maybe there’s something in seeing them feed your four children that changes the way you look at them, but Rio - - Rio never saw that, and there’s something close to tender with the way he lowers a hand to one, his calloused thumb gliding across her pink, pebbled nipple and it’s enough to make her shiver.

And suddenly she’s hyper aware that she’s stark naked, but that the only thing he’s taken off is his shoes, feels herself flush at the sheer vulnerability of it, and she wriggles down a little to get a hand on his belt, feeling just how _hard_ he is, straining in his pants, but then he’s reaching down, grabbing her wrist and pushing her hand above her head, pinning it forcibly back into the pillow. She gasps – and – and is almost alarmed, how wet it makes her, and then she’s gasping all over again when he drags his teeth across her breast, biting down _hard_. She bucks up against him, and she feels him smile, his free hand coming up to grab her other breast, squeezing it tightly, and then loosening, his fingers so soft they’re almost caressing it and the shock in the different sensations draws a keen from her, and it’s not fair, she thinks, that he can be so quiet. She wants to hear him - - just wants to _hear him_. 

“ _Rio_ ,” she sighs, her injured arm still looped around his neck, her good one pressed above her head as he bites, licks, sucks, fondles her breasts, and then his hand is gone, and she hears it, him tugging off his belt, pulling open his pants just enough to free his cock, and then he’s nudging at her cunt, groaning, loud and hoarse, when he realises just how wet she is, and he’s lining up, and, and - - 

“No,” she says, pushing him off her, and he leans back instantly, staring at her quizzically, eyes searching her face, and then her bad arm, and then he’s moving further away, and _no_ , that’s not what she - - 

“No,” she repeats, reaching for him. “I just. I want you to take off your clothes.” 

And he’s smirking down at her then, kneeling on the bed between her spread legs, watching as she rises up onto the elbow of her good arm, eyes flicking down to watch her breasts move as she does it, and he makes a production out of it, because of course he does, slowly unbuttoning his shirt, exposing inches of tanned skin and defined abs, and maybe she licks her lips, maybe he notices, smirk widening as he pulls his shirt off the rest of the way, and then he has to climb off the bed briefly to stand, pushing down his pants and underwear in one swoop, and then - - and then they’re both naked, and Beth briefly forgets how to breathe. 

Not for long though, because he’s back on top of her in an instant, kissing her deeply, and she’s arching up into him, and she thinks maybe - -she thinks maybe she wants - - yeah, she does. She surges forwards, using the momentum and his genuine surprise to push him onto his back and then she’s straddling him, ignoring the ache in her arm at the sudden movement – or – or not ignoring it, kind of _liking_ it, and Rio’s looking up at her with an expression she can’t read, but knows is fucking _hot_ , and she’s reaching back with her good hand to grab his cock stroke it once, twice, three times, before lining up and sinking down to the hilt. And yeah, his fingers are big, but his cock is something else, and her eyelids flutter shut as Rio lets out a guttural moan, his hands coming behind her to grab her ass, kneading the soft flesh there hard enough to bruise. 

It takes her a second to move, to adjust to the length of him inside her, and when she does, it’s with her hand pressed down into his chest, and it’s slow, steady, setting an agonising pace, and maybe she wants it harder, faster, but she also knows she wants it to last. And he tries to speed it up below her, pushing into her, but Beth doesn’t let him. 

“You know how often I’ve thought about this?” 

The words surprise her, and she blinks her eyes back open (when had she even shut them), and Rio’s looking up at her so hotly, so steadily, that she clenches around him. 

“Gettin’ you on top of me. Gettin’ you out of those sweaters you fill so well. You got so pink in that bathroom, and it killed me, not knowin’ where that blush stopped. Not bein’ able to see it. I can see it now, ma.” 

He grabs the bottom of her breasts hard, and she shudders, clenching, and then he’s grabbing the hand holding down his chest, thrusting it aside, and before she can fall on top of him, he surges up to meet her, sitting up in the bed, but he doesn’t force her below him, like maybe she expected, just pushes his nose into her hair, thrusting up into her. 

“Does it get you wet?” He breathes against her cheek. “Knowing all the shit I’d do to you if you let me?” 

And she keens, bouncing down a little more frantically, a little harder, a little faster on his cock, and he laughs, somehow both guttural and gleeful at the same time. 

“Oh, darlin’, you have _no idea_.” 

And then he’s grabbing a fistful of her hair, yanking her head back painfully and lowering his mouth to her neck, biting hickies into her pale skin, sucking on her clavicle, her breasts as he fucks up hard into her, and she’s scrambling at his shoulders, the back of his head, raking her nails across his scalp, and she knows he’s close, can feel it in how fast his movements get, how uneven, how frantic, and then he drops a hand to finger her clit roughly and it’s got to be seconds before she’s crying out, toppling over the edge, clenching hard around him and bringing him along with her. 

And they’d been going too hard, too fast, and it takes her a second to slow herself down again, to slow her own movements, even with his cock softening inside her, and when she does, she just sort of sags limply forwards, her forehead finding his shoulder as he untangles his fist from her hair, stroking her head gently. 

They’re like that for a minute, maybe two, when he says, “Elizabeth?” 

It’s too gentle, too soft, and she hates it when he says her name. 

Loves it. 

But hates it. 

She shakes her head into his shoulder, all the pain which had felt sexy before now just mostly hurting, and she’s going to ache _everywhere_ in the morning, and they both know it. 

“You broke me,” she whines, and he shakes a little below her and it takes her a minute to realise that he’s laughing. She punches him lightly in the shoulder, leaning back enough to look at him, and she hates the way something in her flutters when she sees _that_ smile, the one that he makes when she’s done something to amuse him, the one that, if she didn’t know any better, she’d say was close to affectionate. 

It’s enough to make her rise wobbly up on her knees, sliding off him, and tumbling sideways onto the bed beside him, trying not to pay any attention to the way he bounces over immediately to lie onto his side, facing her, spreading somehow regal and alert beside her when she feels like she’s been fucked limp and stupid. 

And it’s soft at first, the way his hand comes to brush her cheek, and she rolls her head around to face him, leaning into his touch when he spreads his hand there, his long fingers coming up to cover most of the side of her face. His thumb softly stroking her cheek, until it dips lower, brushing over her lips, and pushing inside her mouth. She sucks lightly, obediently, teeth grazing the pad just below his nail, and she feels a surge of heat at the way his eyelids droop a little, the way his own lips part, just slightly, and then he’s pulling it out, tracing the hand down her neck, her chest, cupping her breast somehow fondly, tracing down her middle, fluttering, feather-light, over her caesarean scar again, and then down between her thighs. He finds their combined come, dampening the insides of her thighs, and he spreads his hand out in it, smearing it - _them_ across her skin, and she watches his face, his eyes downcast, watching the movements of his own body over hers, and when his fingers are wet with them, he pushes one back into her, making her inhale sharply.

And he just grins, something sharp and secret, before pulling his hand away, letting her watch as he sucks the finger into his mouth, licking them - _her_ \- off himself, and she’s not sure what it is, but it sparks something keen and possessive in her, something - - just _something_ , and she thinks from the look in his eye, that he feels it too. Maybe has already felt it, maybe already understands it, or maybe not, but maybe knows that he likes it as much as Beth thinks she might too. 

But then he’s rolling onto his back beside her, and all that sharpness is gone, easing out into something softer and somehow both more and less familiar. She just stares at him, watching as he leans down to tug the sheets up over them, and Beth looks around the room, at the strangeness of it, this room, this place that now feels a little hers. 

“I can’t believe you own a secret apartment,” she says, and Rio yawns beside her. 

“I own the building.” 

And it’s enough to make Beth blink, turning back to face him, eyes wide in surprise, and she probably shouldn’t be, but still. 

“The _building_?” she hisses, and he nods, amused by her shock, and then she blinks again. “So when you said you owned a few…” 

“A few buildings, yeah.” 

And Beth laughs, a little hysterically, and almost tells him she owns a few mortgages, so that must make them even in some twisted way, but thinks better of it, instead saying, “I can’t believe you bird watch.” 

And he groans, pushing her over onto her side, away from him, her injured arm facing up, and then promptly pressing up against her back, shoving his lean thigh between her legs, wrapping his arms around her waist. 

“In the morning, I’m gonna fuck you in the shower, yeah?” he says it in the same sort of tone Beth would use to talk about breakfast. “Press you so hard into the wall the tiles leave marks on your back for days. See how many times I can make you come.” 

He hums a little, content, and Beth rolls her eyes, trying to ignore the heat between her legs at the thought. 

“You always use sex to distract people from getting one up on you?” 

He curls his hand around her breast in response, twisting her nipple in a way that makes her squirm back against him. 

“You always have to have the last word?” 

And well, isn’t he one to talk? 

“Go to sleep,” she tells him, and she thinks in the morning, they’ll have to talk about this. About the job tonight, about what happened, come up with a cover for the wound and the hickies she knows cover her, knows, at some point, they’re going to have to talk about _them_ , but - - 

But not right now.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the Peggy Lee song. 
> 
> Series title ALSO from the Peggy Lee/Nina Simone song, haha.
> 
> Also! I appropriated the joke about the car colours from [this hilarious post on tumblr by Dadd. ](http://dadd.tumblr.com/post/183656737642/uber-im-in-a-blue-honda-civic-me-ok-me-to)


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